


this love won't spare your precious little heart

by kingslayer (amurgin)



Series: your love is an open flame, burning us [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-24 14:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21101045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amurgin/pseuds/kingslayer
Summary: “I must apologize for I am no poet, but”, and he took a moment to think it through, for this question begged for an honest answer, a truth in exchange for a truth,“it is a warmth, deep within yourself, a heat that lights you up endlessly yet does not burn.”Linhardt straightened up with a deep breath, as if the very words pulled him closer to the heavens above.“Love is wanting everything that is good in life for those you care for, no matter the expenses you may inquire. And sometimes, that means loving those who are loved, in turn, by your most beloved.”





	this love won't spare your precious little heart

**Author's Note:**

> While this work is part of a series, I've given it my best to write it in a way that it could be a standalone piece, if you so wanted. With that said, I do recommend reading the first part for some extra meaty detail 💕💕

It didn't take a long time, that is to say, it took very little time for word to spread. Like wildfire, from tongue to ear to tongue, Sylvain’s, above all, most eager to wag and spill. 

Linhardt remained unconcerned. This was hardly his first time being one of the hotter topics of discussion at Garreg Mach, and, surely, it wouldn’t be the last time either. It was only when he was asked directly that he felt a tug on the inside, like he _ should _ explain himself, like maybe there _ was _something that needed explaining and he just couldn't tell.

_ “Sooo…”, _ Caspar trailed off, just another sound lost to the wind until he picked it back up. _ “You and Sylvain.” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “Yeah. Cool, cool, cool, cool.” _His head stirred in Linhardt’s lap and his eyes trailed down his face, along the arch of his shoulder, trickling down to the grass like water off of a branch. He was avoiding him, which was a rather hard thing to do, considering their position. Caspar rustled and turned to hide against his stomach. 

They shared a moment of silence like that, an unbearably long instant that seemed to drag on and on and on...

One of Linhardt’s hands rested upon his waist and in the other, a book he kept open with the pad of his thumb, pressing its spine open with a crack. It was a rather ineffective way of reading, at least when it came to turning pages, but, by then, Linhardt knew he wouldn’t be getting much reading done. Not like that. Not with Caspar’s stillness weighing him down, growing heavier than a boulder with each fleeting breath.

_ “Silence doesn’t suit you, Caspar. Out with it.” _

_ “Ah!” _ Visibly startled, he jolted upright in an exaggerated movement that had Linhardt thinking the very air within his lungs had been beaten out of him. _ “It’s just that…I wanna make sure you’re happy.” _

_ “Mhm. Worried, are you?” _ Making a mental note of the line he had stopped at, despite knowing he would have to reread the chapter later, Linhardt closed the book, placing it next to him on the grass. _ “Worried about me or about Sylvain’s less-than-stellar reputation?” _

_ “Both?” _Caspar’s eyes narrowed, rolling around in search for an answer. Keeping up with Linhardt could be a chore at the best of times, though by no ill-will of his own. 

_ “That’s understandable.” _

_ “He’s a shady dude! Thinks with his—”, _ and he gestured towards his crotch, eyebrow both cocked and furrowed at once, _ “and not with his head! That’s no good.” _

_ “At least he is thinking, unlike other such brash and irrational characters.” _

_ “You know, it sounds an awful lot like you’re making fun of me.” _

_ “Precisely.” _

_ “Linhaaardt!” _Caspar whined, a certain theatricality in the way his lower lip seemed to slip beneath his upper, mouth thinned into a pout. He laughed, but Linhardt could not help reaching to ruffle his hair, hand coming to rest upon his head in a gesture dripping of intimacy. How long had it been, since they had become this close, this inseparable? Two cogs in a well-oiled machine, turning endlessly. 

_ “I hear you, but know that there is nothing to be worried about. Sylvain has been perfectly gentlemanly.” _ And it was at that exact moment, a most inopportune moment, that Linhardt recalled Sylvain’s secret stash of sex supplies from up in the library. _ “For the most part, anyway.” _

_ “You just promise to let me know, alright? I’ll make sure to kick his ass if he lays his crooked hands on you. Just you watch.” _

The words had hyped him to such an extent that Caspar jumped on his feet, punching and kicking at the air surrounding them. That fond display of friendship left within Linhardt traces of a warmth he would carry with him indefinitely, fond memories held captive in his pockets, a lucky charm for the worst of times. 

_"Yes, yes. I don't doubt you will." _

He did not dare tell Caspar of everything him and Sylvain had already done. 

✿ ✿ ✿

For as much time as Sylvain spent together with Linhardt, he made sure, almost stubbornly so, to dedicate the same amount to Felix. Training in the early morning, classes throughout the day, lunch at, well, lunch, training in the evening—all of it spent with Sylvain stuck to his side. 

It may have been his way of atoning. For what, he wasn't sure, but thoughts of Felix would not abandon him.

Today, too, Sylvain found himself up at the crack of dawn, a lilt to his step that had him almost skipping his way down to the training grounds. Left foot, then right foot. Toes to the ground, heel in the air. He hummed a tune that carried him along the way, stopping only to enhance (read: cheapen) his performance with the addition of a whistled melody. 

Somehow, entering a dedicated relationship turned Sylvain into even more of a class clown, a feat many would have readily deemed impossible prior to seeing him like this. Still, he was enjoying himself at the expense of nobody. Some pitch-poor whistling never hurt anyone. That much was worth being thankful. Linhardt had quelled the neverending flame that had set his heart on fire. 

_ “Looking good, Champ. Keep those weights lifted.” _ He shot finger guns at Raphael as he passed through the main quad, exciting a wide wave in response. The guy had some serious muscle buildup. Good for him!_ “Hilda, my girl, looking as lovely as always. And Marianne, the Goddess, herself, would sing praise of your beauty were she here. Though I’m sure you’ve already got Hilda screaming your name plenty.” _A deep flush, a giggle. Those two had really gone and and done it. Who would have thought? 

Sylvain was a hurricane, wreaking havoc one lesbian couple at a time as he strutted his way through Garreg Mach. His presence made itself known from afar. He would be heard long before he could be seen. Felix, too, knew he was coming before the large wooden doors creaked a fanfare to his arrival. Once inside, Sylvain continued his little song as he settled in, grabbing a sword and joining Felix by his side.

_ “Need a sparring partner?” _

_ “Who’s offering?” _Felix maintained his focus, practicing his swings on nobody in particular. The offer sounded tempting, sure, but now that Sylvain was offering, finally, after Felix had chastised him to no end for his lack of focus, his complacency and _inability to focus on anything worthwhile_, he wasn’t about to go easy on him. _A beggar should beg, _he grinned to himself.

_ “Well, aren’t you a harsh one? Did somebody pour salt in your cereal this morning?” _ A twitch and Felix swung his sword at Sylvain, who barely caught it with the teeth of his own blade. The loud sound of iron on iron filled the room up, and a shiver shot up his back, one that had him questioning if he was scared or just plain horny. _ “My, my, up for sword fighting? This early?” _

_ “You have been absolutely insufferable as of late.” _ But that wasn’t all there was to it. Sylvain had been changing, steadily. Growing, even. One shitty joke at a time. 

_ “Only the best for you, babe.” _

They passed the time training, both of them putting earnest work into their sparring, and though Felix would have never admitted it, seeing Sylvain take responsibility, attending his duties and studies almost diligently, had given him an entirely different sort of relief. So he _could_ put the work in if he wanted. Linhardt must have been a miracle-worker.

Come to think of it, he didn't really know anything about the guy. Felix had saw him sleeping once or twice in some of the least appropriate places to sleep, but aside from that, Linhardt was an enigma. Hard, almost impossible, to believe somebody that could put a leash on Sylvain existed out there. Nevertheless, here they were. Felix could see it clearly. Sylvain, who had spent so many years trapped inside his own heart, unable to crawl out of his circumstances, that Sylvain was finally free. 

Felix's throat tightened.

By noontime, they decided to take a break, choosing to lounge around while catching their breaths. They kept their backs against the wall, sitting next to each other on the ground and passing a bottle of water Felix had brought with him between each other. A moment of reprieve as they passed the time in silence. Felix spoke up only when doing so no longer felt like swallowing a fistfull of razors. 

_ “You’ve been a lot happier as of late.” _

_ “Mhm? That so? I hadn’t noticed.” _

_ Bullshit. _ Something as important as happiness, true happiness, would have never escaped Sylvain. 

_ “You can talk about it, if you want.” _Felix surrendered a small act of kindness, unsure of himself, of what it was that he meant by doing so. 

_ “There isn't really much to say. I guess he makes me feel right, you know?” _ Sylvain let the question hang, knowing fully well that Felix would never bite. These were things unknown to him, foreign things, frightening things. He shied away from feelings not because he did not grasp them, but because, sometimes, they got to be too much. _ “It's like, yeah, I’m not perfect, and things are kinda fucked, but maybe I can take my time figuring it all out. He’s the second person to make me feel like maybe I’m worth fighting for.” _

_ The second? _Felix peeked at him curiously, regretting it instantly. Sylvain’s smile was the heat of the sun, itself, too warm and impossible to stand even just looking at it, not to mention touching it. 

_ “Isn’t that a good thing?” _

_ “Yeah, it is.” _ He sighed, weighing his words carefully on the palate of his tongue. “_I just—I feel like I’m betraying you or something.” _

_ “You’re not.” _ Felix kept his eyes trained on the edge of his blade, polishing that same spot over and over again until it glistened, light running along it in a wave as he tilted it in search of any scuffs. None were to be found, not there, but on the inside, he may have found a few scars worth tending to. _ “What you do is none of my business, Sylvain, not until you make it my business.” _

_ “What I do is never your business, alright? But you? You’ll always be my concern.” _

_ “I’m nobody’s concern.” _Felix snapped, jaw tightening around his tongue, and he stood up to walk away, all fury. Why, _why _was he so mad? Why was it that Sylvain could drive him up a wall so easily, make him bend backwards if only to get away from him? Had he had within himself to be honest, Felix might have even admitted that Sylvain hadn't done anything wrong. Except loving him. An unforgivable crime. 

_ “Don’t be like that. We’re friends, right? Nothing you do could ever stop me from caring about you.” _

It wasn’t a challenge. Didn’t sound like one, either, but Felix insisted on taking it as such, wanting a way out of that fire that clawed at his insides, burning him mad the closer Sylvain stepped. He followed, making to reach for Felix, lips pursed tightly. His body moved before he could understand the implications of his gesture, that he was betraying himself, and his hand remained suspended midair. Reaching for him, always. 

Felix had stepped back, mirroring the movement of his legs perfectly and nothing else. He left no space for doubt, no reason to try digging at what he was getting at. And Sylvain understood. His arm came to rest back at his side, tearing a sigh from deep inside his chest, where his heart beat cruelly, loudly, seeking audience with the object of its desire. 

A while passed before he spoke, time in which they could not shake the tension blanketed over them. 

_“You remember?”_ He smiled fondly, just for an instant before turning to his solemn expression. “_Our promise. It haunts my head as if it were some ghost—”_

_ “Then just die why don’t you?” _ Felix’s voice snapped like a whip, crackling against Sylvain’s skin and cutting him off. It scarred him, drawing veins of lighting upon his body, burning him, searing him to the point where he was the one stepping back, frightened by Felix’s growing shadow. _ “If it’s that big of a deal just go die, idiot.” _

But he couldn’t do that. No matter how painful, Sylvain couldn’t leave Felix behind.

His smaller frame shook, shoulders quivering in a low tremor. Unlike Sylvain, it was not fear that moved Felix, but anger. Plain, simple anger. As he clenched his jaw, his teeth ground against each other hollowly. He was holding back, biting his tongue, swallowing his words dryly until they would no longer go down meekly. 

_ “Nobody asked you to stay alive! Hell, we'd be better off without you. You're good for nothing except chasing that low angle to look up someone's skirt.” _His fingernails stamped crescents into the palms of his hands, chest heaving as he breathed, shrinking each time he exhaled until he felt like he would suffocate and drop dead himself. That wasn’t what he had meant to say, but he could no longer take it back.

This wasn’t who Felix _wanted_ to be, but it was who he had made himself out to be, impaling, spearing, slicing flesh each time he spoke. 

_ “I'm not like that, anymore...You don’t mean that.” _

He flinched. Sylvain’s hand came upon his cheek out of nowhere, all tender and soft, like a leaf ripped from its branch, seeking protection from the savage winds. Or maybe Felix was the one that needed saving here, and Sylvain was there, as always, ready to offer it to him. 

_ “I do. I do! I mean every word I said.” _More, then. It needed to hurt more. 

His lip lifted to reveal his teeth in a snarl, and he slapped Sylvain’s hand away, retreating a couple of steps back from where he stood. _ Don’t come closer_, he urged, begged.

_ “You can’t lie to me, Felix.” _Sylvain, advancing, drove him further into his corner. Every part of his body stung and burned, but he could not help shaking the feeling that he wasn’t the one that needed to be rescued there. Not when Felix looked so small and fragile, just waiting to break. 

Sylvain's arms wrapped around his waist, tight, but not enough that he could not break their embrace if he so wished, and he held him there, pressing his face into Felix’s hair, speaking quietly, gently, as he might have spoken to him years before, when they were both children. 

_ “I won’t leave you. I’ll never leave you.” _

_ “You should.” _ Felix, despite everything, wrapped his own arms around Sylvain’s neck and hid inside his chest. _ “You should forget about me.” _

_ "But this__—__This thing that's between us__—_ _" _

_ "Is nothing. You keep making something out of nothing, trying to pretend like everything you do isn’t just one big farse." _ It hurt to say it, hurt to hear it. They were both hurting and Felix convinced himself that it was better this way. If Sylvain could learn to hate him, unlearn to love him, if Felix could undo every moment he had wasted on him, hoping to be loved in return, he would have already done it. But it was impossible. _ “I can’t be there for you anymore.” _

_ “You say this every time, and yet”, _ his hand burned against his cheek, or maybe it was _ his _ skin that singed Sylvain’s touch, _ “you’re still here. You’ve come all the way to Garreg Mach, and you’re still here. Even now.” _

_ Because I can’t escape you _ was the thought that came to him first, but it did not sound right. An admission of reasoning would have left him vulnerable just by implying that there _ was _a reason keeping him there, that he wasn’t following his own path, but Sylvain’s. 

_ "But you don't owe me anything, Sylvain." _

_ "I know. I don't. But I wanted you to have it anyway." _ He kept his fists clenched, holding onto an answer he did not have, an explanation to what he couldn’t understand. _ "Was it too much? Wanting you to accept my love." _

Felix grew smaller still. 

_ "Yes. It was." _

✿ ✿ ✿

_ "Hello, Felix." _As he spoke, Linhardt didn’t pry his eyes away from the book that had monopolized his attention. 

Felix approached him from the side, cautiously, first stalking his figure, the shadow of green peeking from afar. After that, it had taken him a number of moments to decide that the pursuit _ was_, in fact, worth it, even though he barely knew what it was that he would say after making contact. What it was that he wished to say. Act first, think later, except he was just about ready to turn tail when Linhardt spoke. Even though it wasn’t instantaneous, Felix decided to take his chance.

_ “Hey. You got a moment to chat?” _

_ "Mhm.” _ He hummed, taking his time leisurely to gloss over the page he was on from side to side. Once he finished the paragraph he had been stuck on, Linhardt glanced up, no doubt intrigued at the sight of Felix as he laid his book down onto the table. _ “Of course. Between you and I, I’ve made my way through this book a number of times already, and it never ceases to amaze with its most dull theories. But ah, I doubt it is my person that has brought you here.” _

_ "Sylvain must have spoken to you." _

_ "About what, exactly? He tends to be rather liberal with some aspects of his life, but others. Well, I'm sure that's no news to you." _

_ "About our fight…" _Believing Sylvain would not have mentioned it, not even a slight slip of the tongue, to the first person he had taken on as a real, genuine partner, was just about impossible. Couples must have spoken about those sorts of things. The daily routine, the monotony of their feelings, emotions and the whole irrational starter pack. Especially Sylvain. He was entirely too human. 

_ "I fear he hasn't. But perhaps you will." _ Something about the way Linhardt smiled unsettled him. It was a ghost upon his lips, a mirage. Far too good to pass up. It disarmed Felix, enticed him with its invitation to abandon his fight and take flight into its sweet embrace. To make a pass at also being human and make mistakes. To trust. _ "If you are so inclined, the seat is yours to take." _

Linhardt gestured towards the empty chair that faced him, gracing Felix with the chill of his eyes as he waited. There was a small but sharp edge to the way he watched him, a cold scalpel slicing Felix open and splaying his viscera upon the medical bed, like some kind of circus act. 

A nod, and then he sat down, rather awkwardly, clammy palms stuck to his lap, shoulders snug and close to his body. 

_ “I know we haven’t really talked before _ _ —” _ , but he stopped himself there because this was a stupid idea, after all. Felix had no idea what he was trying to say or what he should be saying. If anything, he should have gone to Sylvain instead. That much was clear. _ “Sorry. It’s nothing.” _

And as quickly as he shot up, he found himself unable to move away, anchored to his spot by Linhardt’s hand steady, firm around his wrist. Despite not being especially forceful, Felix being certain that he could have easily broken away, it was that special little something Linhardt possessed that enticed him and rooted him where he stood. 

_ “We haven’t really talked before, meaning that this would be the perfect chance for us to do so, wouldn’t you agree__?” _ He cocked his head to the side, a few verdant tresses falling to hang down from where they grew, others settling against his cheek. His eyes, still waters, a perfect reflection of Felix’s own eyes darting about his face, never settling on one spot for too long. Full lips, lush eyelashes, cheeks dusted in a light pink. His fingers were long and pale against his own skin, soft in their touch, and ever-careful. It wasn't that Felix had intended to see him so clearly, but he couldn't look away. 

Irresistible. Linhardt was the type of man Felix knew to stay as far away from as possible, and yet, he also knew he would never again be able to vacate his side. It was already too late. 

He reclaimed his spot with a sigh, watching Linhardt’s hand retreat victoriously as he did so. 

_ “So you have fought then. I suppose that would explain his latest melancholy.” _

_ “You noticed it, then?” _

_ “Of course.” Of course_. He stated it matter-of-factly, as if it were a universally acknowledged truth, that any lover would understand such things, perhaps even prior to their conception. _ “For all his talk, Sylvain isn’t exactly skilled at concealing his own feelings. And yet, revealing him as such would surely be disastrous. Let he who speaks speak. And you? You have come to do so, no?” _

_ “I suppose.” _ Felix shrugged, leaning back into his seat. _ “I’m not really sure why I came.” _

_ “Perhaps we may speak of other things then. Shall I fetch you a cup of tea? Any particular preference?” _

_ “The Almyran Pine blend.” _

_ “A most fitting choice.” _ With an almost smug look on his face, Linhardt stood up and went on about his business, speaking unhindered. He made quick work of scooping four teaspoons of the tea leaves into the teapot. _ “I assume you headed over straight from the training grounds, yes?” _Then, he grabbed a fresh cup of tea, savouring its warmth in the palms of his hands for a brief moment before placing it atop the matching saucer. 

_ “Yeah. I thought I would catch you at lunchtime.” _

_ “Was I easy to find?” _ He shot a glance back over his shoulder, filling the kettle with as much water as he deemed fit, which was far more than just one person’s share. 

Felix considered his question for a second, the traces of smugness that still lingered in his features. Linhardt perplexed him. Getting a handle on his thoughts was proving to be impossible.

_ “Yes? I was on my way to the library when I spotted you.” _

_ “I see.” _Turning away, Felix was left wondering. Linhardt had evidently found something in his answer. Though, if it was satisfaction or its opposite, he couldn’t tell. What difference did any of that make? 

With the conversation cut short, Felix placed his focus somewhere else, namely on the other parts of Linhardt he hadn't been made privy to yet, which, unsurprisingly, were many. 

Going about his business, he made a spectacle out of preparing the tea, giving Felix plenty to consider as he followed him around. He held the kettle with a touch so feather-light it may have been floating, and as his free hand took its place beneath, supporting the base of it, with the snap of his fingers, a mild flame sprouted out of the pads of his fingers, engulfing the bottom of the kettle in fire. It looked innocent enough, but the way he moved was captivating. Sure and steadfast. No wasted energy, not a single twitch of the muscle. Everything was purposeful. 

Once again, Felix's gaze was drawn to his hands, that merciful confidence with which he seemed to do everything. It was the sort of touch that had Felix wondering what it felt like for Sylvain when Linhardt held him. Was it those hands that lifted Sylvain out of his misery, drawing him from inside himself with that same affect that tinged all his actions? Could he draw the flame out of his lover with those same fingers that were burning, at that exact moment? And what about him, Could Linhardt—for him, too?

The kettle whistled. The water boiled. 

Felix shuddered. 

_ “Doesn’t it burn?” _

Linhardt extinguished the fire with as much ease as he set it, seemingly unphased by it or by Felix’s question. Perhaps it was a stupid thing to ask. 

_ “Not at all.” _ His voice poured over Felix as the water did upon the leaves. _ “I cast a protection spell before. Since the surface is small enough, it takes little effort to maintain both spells. Would you like to see?” _

His eyes lifted to find Felix watching him. He continued pouring. 

_ “Yeah. The Professor’s been insisting that I try my hand at magic.” _

_ “And you think it’s a waste of time?” _

_ “And I think it’s a waste of time.” _Felix huffed a laugh. Now that the teapot had been filled, Linhardt placed the kettle back in its spot on the cart, returning to pull a chair by Felix’s side and take a seat. 

_ “A swordsman such as yourself may find little use for magic”, _ and Linhardt extended an open palm to Felix, who graced him, albeit hesitantly, with his own hand, _ “still, you might find it useful to learn a spell or two. Your crest, too, lends itself to the craft.” _

As he spoke, he turned Felix’s hand in his own, letting his finger trace nonsensical shapes into his skin. Lines, circles, serpent tails. Felix’s gaze flickered from that place where their hands touched, to Linhardt’s mild expression. There wasn’t a crease on his pale skin, and as they sat there, knees touching, no spell in the world could save him from the heat that overtook his body. Briefly, he considered that Linhardt might not have been particularly good at magic, or that maybe he was tugging on Felix’s tail, trying to get him back for upsetting Sylvain. But then, he pulled away, and as he did so, Linhardt drew the smallest of flames out of deep within him. 

The little fire appeared to react to Linhardt. Like a charmed snake, it followed his finger as it hovered over Felix’s palm, growing taller to reach him when he withdrew, shrinking when he came closer. And then, as if it had all been a hallucination, Linhardt closed Felix’s fist and snuffed it out, leaving behind only that warmth which had taken hold of Felix since before the fire. 

_ “A small parlour trick, nothing more.” _

Except the flush of his cheeks was no trick. Felix felt himself grow red, which only worsened his already shameful affliction. Luckily, if Linhardt noticed, he did not seem to pay it any mind. 

_ “The tea should be just about ready.” _ And with that, it was all over. Felix’s hand was forgotten by his side, their contact as absent as if it had never occurred, and Linhardt ambled to the teapot, filling up Felix’s cup before bringing it back to him. _ “I hope it will be befitting of your taste.” _

All he could do was nod and bring his hands to either side of the cup, seeking to replace the heat of Linhardt against him. 

_ “Think you could show me how to do it sometime?” _

_ “I fear you’ll find me a rather poor teacher. But if you would still have me, who am I to stop you?” _

Felix lifted the cup to his lips, letting the scent linger on his lips as he closed his eyes. It was perfect, just like this. 

✿ ✿ ✿

The sight of Felix, sitting across from him, a cup of piping hot tea in his hands, quickly became a constant in Linhardt’s daily life.

If it wasn’t Sylvain, it was Felix, and never both of them at once. Whatever rift had torn itself between them persisted in keeping them apart, and, as far as Linhardt was concerned, it was becoming quite troublesome. His eyes lingered on the decorated rim of his teacup, running themselves in circles around the golden wreath that outlined the porcelain, half expecting the sheer strength of his stare to cause a whirlpool in the amber liquid. It didn't though, and he was forced to confront the reality that human beings and their human matters truly were _that_ insignificant. The world waited for no one. Yet, here they were, wasting what precious little time they had feuding over something that seemed to him painfully obvious. 

Despite never bringing it up, it was doubtful that Sylvain had not heard of their recent teatime cavorting. If he hadn’t, he surely must have seen them, at one point or another. They weren’t exactly hiding it, and still, Sylvain would press the flutter of a butterfly’s kiss to his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, and see him off every morning with a wave of his hand, a shy of regret to his eye. 

Felix, too, insisted stubbornly on never bringing up his friend, as if the mere mentioning of his name might have caused unspeakable horrors. Each time, he would walk up to Linhardt, a resolution underlying his stride that had his feet stomping the grass beneath, leveling it under his foot in the same way that he had dealt with his feelings. Roughly but swiftly. And, reaching him, Felix’s mouth would open and close, then open before falling closed again, like a fish out of water, finding that there is no air within him to breathe alive those words he wished so dearly to say. 

It was impossible to understand how they had even managed to make it that far. But, Linhardt digressed. 

_ This _ was love. 

It was a face of love he did not recognize, himself, but there was little else it could have been. That devotion to each other even in the face of apparent betrayal. Neither of them wanted to hurt the other with their presence, unsure of how to go on living in close proximity, even when being apart only caused the same kind of damage, if not more hurtful. Unable to be together, unable to be apart. The stuff of fairy tales, neverending towers and dragon heads, rolling down, down the staircase. 

Watching them gave him a headache. He lifted his cup and pressed it to his lips, taking a larger-than-necessary mouthful before setting it back down. 

_ “How has your magic training been?” _

_ “Boring.” _Felix shrugged, his chin resting atop the bridge of his palm. He was looking off to the side, distracted. 

_ “Mhm.” _ Another sip, smaller now. Less patient. _ “Are you going to keep at it anyway?” _

_ “Dunno.” _

By then, he had reached the peak of his impatience. 

_ “Ah, well, it can’t be helped, then. I suppose even Felix Hugo Fraldarius must have his weaknesses. Otherwise you would be too perfect a man, and we both know creation is hardly ever perfect. ” _

_ “Wh__—Hey, wait a minute.” _ He tripped over his own tongue, turning to glare at Linhardt, its effect heavily diminished by the crimson of his cheeks. _ “I didn’t say I was giving up.” _

_ “You didn’t say you would keep at it either. Pity, too. I am sure your magic skills are nowhere near as obtuse as your ability to socialize. Or, rather, your inability.” _

_ “What do you know, anyway?” _ Standing up with a start, Felix slammed his fists down onto the table, sending both of their cups quacking as they chittered against the saucers. Linhardt watched the tea spill out of Felix’s cup, startled. _ “I don’t see you doing anything about it. All you ever do is have tea with me while Sylvain’s out there screwing himself over.” _

He winced, clenching his jaw shut, and took off, like a summer’s storm. In and out before he could so much as blink. 

Linhardt kept his hands on the cup, watching the ripples in the tea calm and return to their previous state of tranquility. 

_ “So that is what has been on his mind lately.” _ A sigh, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing the skin there to settle himself. _ “I wonder—is that what he’s been thinking, too?” _

And maybe none of this was worth dissecting because the next day rolled out unlike any other, without the world coming to an end, Felix stomping back up to take his seat before Linhardt, a stack of books balanced beneath his arm like a poorly planned magic act. 

Despite himself, Linhardt found that he was smiling.

✿ ✿ ✿

It was right away that he knew, at one glance, that Felix's icy heart began thawing, one cup of tea at time. 

Linhardt had that sort of effect on people, though whether he understood it or not was still to be determined. Just by being around him, you could breathe a little easier, walk a little straighter, and before you could wrap your head around the subtle changes gathering up inside, his fingers would find a space against your body and it was game over. Try again all you might, it was in vain.

He found himself wondering if Felix had caught on yet. Linhardt never lost. 

Depending on your definition of loss, nobody came out a loser. Getting to play in the first place was a win of its own. But it might not have always seemed that way, and Felix wasn't one for losing or feeling like he was kept out of the joke. Still, in Linhardt's presence he seemed subdued, unsure, a little on edge, sure, but far calmer than his usual. How unsettling it must have been for him, having that one skill he had trained to hone for years, that allergy to feelings, rendered null in an instant by someone who could barely keep his eyes open. 

Sylvain had come upon them by accident, one day, on his way to find Felix and apologize. He hadn't regretted what he had said, but causing grief was never his intention. Felix, least of all, deserved that. So, it was with that intention in mind that he set out to find him, which he did, unexpectedly, at the side of his beloved. 

_What a surprise_, he stood there, dumbfounded, before ducking behind one of the pillars on the outside of the garden fence. Hopefully, they hadn't noticed him, but by the way Felix's eyes stuck to Linhardt, roving over him with no clear purpose, no destination, Sylvain knew he hadn't been seen. And still, his heart thumped loudly in his chest and he clutched at it, bunching his jacket and shirt in his fist. 

_"What is this?" _The fire roared alive, steadily, beating harshly against his body, and he laughed quietly, to himself, hiding it inside his other hand. _"How hopeless can I be? Lin, would it be selfish of me..."_, but he stopped himself. It _would_ have been so very selfish of him, to hope that Linhardt could be the one to unearth all the clutter Sylvain had swept beneath the rug, to come in his life and clean all his fuck-ups. Yet, he hoped, despite his better judgement. 

With a sigh, he collapsed against the stone surface, sitting down defeated, unable to stand his own cowardice nor his nosiness. 

Because Sylvain wanted to see more of them together, to glimpse Linhardt's hand against Felix's skin and think of it as his own. To sit at that table, awestruck, and run his eyes all over Linhardt, in the same way Felix could not pry himself away from the sight of him. The urge to join them, to take his place at their table and share in on their conversations, their company, their love, overtook him, and he glanced over his shoulder to where they stood. 

Linhardt was now right next to Felix, seated, and he held his hand, making magic out of his skin. There, Sylvain saw himself in the fire that arose. He caught sight of himself, unable to escape Felix, unable to stop chasing Linhardt, and it was then that he understood the true nature of his affliction. 

Love had a great many deal of faces.

✿ ✿ ✿

They spent day after day together, again and again, never questioning what their initial encounter had come to be. There was little purpose in asking questions without answers. 

In its own way, it made sense. 

Linhardt was always behind, in that place where Felix’s eyes could not reach to watch his back. His was the voice of reason when Felix got tangled in his own thoughts, unable to find escape, and for his own part, his tongue grew slower, duller, even though Linhardt may have been a dying species. The only one still able to withstand his outbursts. 

Felix, too, became a body Linhardt could easily shadow, letting time waste away mostly in pleasant silence, sometimes in engaging dialogue. He was a crisp breath of air on a winter’s morning, a quiet clearing where he could piece his mind together, a refreshing mouthful of spring water, fresh and cold. Being around him became second nature. Sylvain on one hand, Felix on the other. 

His promise had gone unbroken. Felix did not so much as breathe Sylvain’s name, not after that incident, so Linhardt did not either. 

And a good chunk of their time was spent at the training grounds, where Felix could train unhindered, out of the sight of most others. Linhardt, too, did not watch him closely. Often times, he would bring a book to read through at his leisure or he would nap on the benches, on the floor, wherever it was that sleep overtook him. It was only then that Felix would watch him, at times, casting a curious eye his way.

At first, he tried paying him little mind, but soon enough, he found himself developing a rather troublesome habit. He had started doting. 

Linhardt would pass away on the hardened ground, curled around himself or sprawled open, depending on the day, on the mood, and Felix would cast his jacket over him, doing little to cover the length of his limbs. _ It’s the thought that counts_, he would catch himself muttering, dreading all the while the meaning of such frivolous actions. 

On one of those days, Felix sat crouched beside him, perplexed at being unable to figure it out. Normally, he would have asked Linhardt—_ he would have? _ Since when had it become so natural, to seek answers within Linhardt, to ask another to fill in the gaps he could not get to himself? 

Sighing, he resigned himself to living without knowing, for the better, but then he caught himself stealing glances at Linhardt’s sleeping form, at the peacefulness of his features, the gentle rhythm of his breathing being the only undeniable proof of his still being alive. As if hypnotized, his hand drifted down, and he brushed a stripe across his cheek with his knuckles. 

It was _ too _ soft to bear. 

He pulled away, locking his arms around his legs in a deadlock, and he sat there, forehead pressed to his knees, denying the world around him from seeing his face. All in vain. From below, Linhardt glimpsed the flush that spread across his cheek, swallowing his own redness away. 

✿ ✿ ✿

_ “Now then, focus is key. Visualize the opponent in your mind’s eye and then draw strength from within yourself.” _ Linhardt ran his hands along the expanse of Felix’s shoulders, his touch causing more damage than doing good. _ “The sword is merely an extension of yourself, so once you have found that spark, let it run through the blade.” _

_ “You realize how stupid that all sounds, right?” _

_ “I never made any claims that magic was a logical discipline. It is, after all, a feeling, and feelings must be experienced, not explained. I’m just here to throw you a line every once in a while.” _

_ “Alright, alright. Stand back.” _

And Linhardt did as was asked, gladly taking cover a few paces behind. 

Without his shadow looming over him, Felix could finally relax as the tension in his body eased, and he steadied his breath with a sigh, letting his eyelids draw closed. He watched the figure of his opponent, a poor dummy, form in the darkness of his head, but its image quickly dissipated, replaced by a familiar face. 

Linhardt blurred into focus and Felix could see him clearer than ever before. He searched his features, taking note of every little thing that stood out. The tuft of hair sneaked behind his ear. The soft pinks that brightened up his face, adding a little colour to the marble of his skin. Then, his mouth. Felix noticed the fullness of his lower lip, the shape of his Cupid’s bow. It became easier, understanding Sylvain, if only through his appreciation of Linhardt. 

Realization shook him to the core, and when his heart coughed up a beat, the spark he had been searching for found him. 

The sword heated up in his grip, and as his eyes shot open, arm moving to point the blade at the dummy, electricity crackled all around his body. Felix drew it into one single point, at the tip of the weapon, and from there, he released it in a ripple of air. A second later, lightning struck, burning the bundle of wooden sticks and burlap to a crisp. 

_ “By the Goddess, Felix, you’ve done it!” _ When he turned, Felix did so only to find himself immediately engulfed in Linhardt’s embrace. He cast his arms around his neck, bringing him closely and squeezing him against his chest only to release him anew, a changed man. But his hands quickly came back upon his shoulders, and he held him just far enough that their eyes could meet comfortably. _ “I have never seen such a magnificent display of Thoron. You’ve done wonderfully! I wonder, could this all be a result of your crest. Surely, it must play some part.” _

He continued rambling, letting go of Felix in favour of crossing his arms against his chest, pacing about as he fell deeper and deeper into the rhythm of his mind. 

Felix watched, that spark he had become so well accustomed to flaring up inside his chest, and he felt the air around him begin to crackle again. Before he knew it, his arms darted to grab a hold of Linhardt, keeping him still by the shoulders, just as he had done to him previously. 

_ “Crest, no crest, it’s got nothing to do with this. That’s all your merit. Without you…” _

His eyebrows pulled together as he stopped himself from going any further, and he pulled away, dreading it all the while. He couldn't have heard himself properly. That could have never been _his_ voice speaking. Though it was hard to tell now that he had fallen silent. 

_ “Not at all.” _ Linhardt shook his head, a small smile laid upon his lips. _ “My efforts would have gone wasted had you not been such a promising pupil. Truly. I ought to be envious of your skill.” _

_ “Are you?” _

At that, the smile grew, banishing any shadow that may have crossed his face. 

_ “Of course not.” _ His hand rose, and he brushed a knuckle over Felix’s cheek. The spot Linhardt touched lit up at once, and he blushed furiously until his entire face, ears, and neck had all changed colour. _ “Should I be? Perhaps you seek to take over my position. Is that what this is all about, Sir Felix Hugo Fraldarius?” _

He turned away with a chuckle, making his way to one of the benches on the periphery of the chamber. Felix followed at his heels, quickly making his way to Linhardt’s side. His face mirrored that earlier smile. 

_ “Nothing gets past you, von Hevring. Is that it? Perhaps you’ve grown overconfident and somebody should teach you a lesson.” _

_ “My, oh my! And the pupil has overtaken his master, just like that. Pity, I would’ve gladly given you my position willingly.” _

_ “Your kingdom for a nap?” _

_ “Aptly put.” _They took a seat next to each other, laughing softly while doing so. 

There was hardly any space between them, a most natural occurrence that they afforded none of their attention to. There were other much important things deserving of it. 

_ “I never properly thanked you." _ It was unusual to see Felix meek, but he had made himself so small. The sole of his shoe ground at the floor beneath. _ "For making him happy. So, thank you." _

Linhardt watched him for a while, gauging a response while walking a tightrope. His words, though honest, conveyed barely half of what he truly felt, but luckily, Linhardt could see past it. 

_ "His happiness. That's you, Felix." _He knew it to be the truth, immovable, unchanging, and he did not resent it. Sylvain's smile would never have existed were it not for Felix. _ "It doesn't take much to see that. A childhood of memories should be more than enough for you to understand." _

_ "But I—”, _ and though he turned towards Linhardt, Felix faltered quickly after, falling back, _ “I’ve hurt him.” _

_ “Yes. You have.” _ Hearing somebody else say, it was just another stab at a wound still fresh, salt burning at his flesh. Nevertheless, even fire could cleanse when lit the right way, by the right person. _ “You can only be hurt, and I mean truly hurt, by someone you care about deeply. Somebody that’s made you happy at least once before.” _

The tone of his voice was serene and so very pleasant to listen to. His words lit a courage in Felix he had not realized was gone. 

_ “I don’t know how to make him happy. I can’t give him what he wants.” _

_ “You can’t or you won’t?” _

A clean shot, straight through the heart. Linhardt nailed him to his spot. 

_ “I…I don’t know.” _ His voice sounded weak and resigned, and he shrugged, tucking his face away to hide the shame at having discerned that he _ did _know. Maybe not before, but now, since Linhardt had asked, just in time for him to pretend that he didn’t know. 

_ “Luckily for you, you don’t need to know.” _ Linhardt, having leaned down, peeked from below until Felix could no longer avoid the smile that elevated his features. _ “That would be why you have Sylvain. I doubt it would be fair for you to have to figure it all out on your own.” _

_ “What about you?” _ Felix held his gaze as firmly as he could, but his face turned redder with each passing moment. When he parted his lips to speak once more, it was at a fraction of its earlier strength. _ “Could I have you, too?” _

It was his first time watching Linhardt match his flush. The first time his cheeks bloomed deeply at the behest of someone else, unwillingly, perhaps. Though not entirely. The heat grew so indescribably hot that Linhardt was forced to pull back, covering the lower half of his face with the back of his hand. 

_ “I don’t see...why not...if you so desired.” _As he mumbled, his own bashfulness seemed to worsen Felix’s. They both pulled away from one another, looking to the side where the other’s expectant eyes would not wait for him. 

Yet, even with all the distance they had put between their bodies, their hands remained next to each other atop the surface of the bench, pinkies touching in unspoken promises. Next time. _ Next time._

✿ ✿ ✿

He was cautious, more so than he had ever been. 

Linhardt had that way of looking at him, _through_ him, without uttering a single word. He would watch with those steely blue eyes, divulging no secrets of his own, and just that meaningful look would have Sylvain spilling his mind all over him in a constant rush. That was how close to the edge he had gotten. 

One slip, one out-of-character gesture, a meaningless sentence that begged further questioning, any of those would have been enough to alert him to his true feelings. 

So, he kept to himself, more than usual, which in itself was very unlike him. Sylvain had always been rather transparent, and what was now second nature to him wouldn't change so easily. It was his luck, however, that Linhardt seemed just as reclusive. For once, when his eyes found Sylvain, he would look past him, as if they weren't both walking the same earth, the same path. 

_"Hey. Lin. You there?" _A few days had passed since they had last seen each other, having been unusually busy with various tasks that always had them on opposite sides of the monastery. For that reason alone, it was unusual for Linhardt to be so closed off. The enclosure of his mind must have been suffocating. 

Exciting no response, Sylvain gave him a pout, slumping forward into his hand. He looked quite cute like that, cheek squished into his palm. _"Oh, woe! What cruel fate has befallen me. The love of my life won't so much as look at me! What else is there left for me except to die." _He swung back dramatically with a loud and obnoxious sigh, head falling back defeated.

_"My apologies."_ Linhardt muttered, suddenly upon his lips, pressing a gentle peck to the corner of his mouth as he did so. Following that, he crawled onto Sylvain's lap, settling there with his arms around his neck, a soft roll of his hips warning Sylvain of his cruel temptress charm. 

_"Oho? Trying to earn forgiveness, are you?" _

_"Forgiveness?" _He cocked his head to the side, pondering the question with that characteristic seriousness he afforded Sylvain at all times. _"Haven't I apologized already?"_

_"Yes, but you know my price runs pretty high." _Even so, Sylvain began bouncing in his seat, rubbing himself against Linhardt in the process. He was as excitable as a big, rugged puppy. _"Sooo, how are you gonna make it up to me?" _

_"Oh, I've got just the thing." _And having said that, he laid Sylvain back onto the bed, standing upright to tug his shirt off, to hide the few rebellious strands of hair that covered his face behind his ear, all the while keeping a rhythm to the slow grind of their bodies. Once he was naked from waist up, Linhardt leaned down to shadow him, lips gracing the underneath of his jaw, his ear. _"I'll give you the world, beloved. Everything for you." _

In that moment, though Sylvain could not see his face, he heard the slow ebb of his voice, heard the glint of a spark in his words, and he settled a little more relaxed into himself. His hands came up to rest on the small of Linhardt's back, and he nodded his approval, understanding that there was an entire whole world of meanings that followed his promise. 

And though it was no small feat, all he needed to do was trust. 

_"I will never stop waiting for you, Lin. Just make sure you come find me when all's done." _

✿ ✿ ✿

It was unlike him to be so fretful. 

He paced about, book in his hand, but as hard as Linhardt tried focusing on reading, the more the words blurred together. A sigh before he relegated himself to slumping against the wall without much grace. 

Felix glanced his way once, twice, unsure of what to do or say in the face of a Linhardt that was not his usual, composed self. He echoed his sigh, sheathing his sword before coming to occupy the space next to him. That seemed to unwind a knot that had twisted itself inside Linhardt. This sigh was one of relief. 

_ “Come on. Spit it out. What’s on your mind?” _

_ “The Professor has been rather insistent as of late that I assume a more tactical-oriented role.” _ His brow creased, and he sighed deeply. _ “I have told them time and time again that I would like less responsibility, not more.” _

_ “War doesn’t give anybody a choice. The Professor is simply looking for ways to maximize our best chances. That’s all.” _

_ “Of course, I know that.” _ This kind of talk exhausted him. Nobody except for Sylvain understood how he felt, how he _ really _ felt. Expecting that of Felix was almost silly. _ “And that is precisely why I cannot understand their reasoning. Putting somebody like me in charge of all those lives—they may as well be putting us all to death.” _

Felix ran quiet at that. The blankness of his expression betrayed no emotion, if he was feeling anything. Linhardt was unsure, even as he spoke. 

_ "If they didn’t believe in your skills, you wouldn’t be there." _ It was only then that he grimaced, tongue primed for a good lashing. Except, when it came, it was too soft, too gentle, despite the roughness of his look. _ “Pull your act together. This is no time to be doubting yourself.” _

_ "I beg your pardon?" _

_ "You’re not fooling anybody, Linhardt. You're scared. If you end up being good at something, people will start relying on you, like the Professor has, and if you make a mistake, well...in times like these, none of us can afford to make mistakes." _

Linhardt blinked a few times, his eyelids rising progressively higher each time, and it took him a while to understand what _ this _ was, what this meant for them. For Felix and himself.

He was right. A single, good look at Linhardt and he had solved the Sphinx's riddle. Eternal only until its salvation. 

Stubbornly afraid, Linhardt had shot himself in the foot, refusing to apply himself to just about everything he was actually good at. And it was all because his skills had been forced to curb life where he had only wanted to promote it, to do bad where good could be done so much more easily. But if his magic stayed weak, then maybe, just maybe, he could avoid the bloodshed. 

That was his way of rebelling, sowing anarchy on his way, trying to dismantle this war one nap at a time. A foolish plan from a foolish man. Felix had made him out entirely.

_ “I hadn’t realized you paid that much attention to me.” _

_ “Wh—What are you trying to say?” _Felix recoiled, the stammer of his voice turning his face a bitter red. 

_ “That you’re observant. And that your kindness is showing. You must be careful, my dear Felix, someone might be tempted to see you as anything other than rude. Your very reputation is at stake.” _ Keeping a straight face would have been impossible for anybody other than Linhardt, and even he felt like he might crack at any moment. Eventually, he laughed warmly at the sight of Felix, fidgeting and unsure of himself. It was wholly refreshing. _ “Thank you. Sincerely. I think I must have always been scared, but now. Now, it’s different.” _

_ “How so?” _

_ “I have someone else other than myself to worry about. It might even be that I’ve started to think I should do something, if only to protect him. Truly, how unlike myself I have become.” _ Linhardt leveled another, lower laughter, this time more melancholy than relief. _ “I don’t want to wrong him.” _

_ How odd_, Felix thought. They had made strangers out of each other. Sylvain, so much happier now, Linhardt, more reserved than before, thoughtful of his actions and their impact, and Felix, too, had begun to change, steadily. He wanted to listen to Linhardt speak, to ask him for clarification when his thoughts ran dry and he fell quiet. The interest Felix had taken in him was unusual, foreign, but he chased that curious feeling to wherever it was that Linhardt waited, always ready to answer.

_ "Sylvain cares for you. That's not worth questioning." _ He looked downcast briefly. _ "And you and I both know he's made more mistakes than you ever could. Trust him, alright? Trust that he knows his own feelings." _

_ “It is not his feelings for myself that I fear.” _

That seemed to catch Felix off-guard. His eyes were drawn upwards by the anxiety that bubbled within. Not a foreign feeling, no. Felix was just as human as the rest of them.

_ “Linhardt, you must know that I would never_ _—” _

_ “You misunderstand me.” _ Linhardt met him with a gaze most warm, his skin softened by the smile that adorned it. _ “I am grateful for his feelings towards you. I suspect that it is those feelings that have made him the man he is today. The same man I now love.” _

It was an enviable thing, the ease with which people like him, both Linhardt and Sylvain could say such things. After everything, he had finally found someone capable of saying it back, somebody that was not Felix. 

_ “What does it feel like?” _

_ “Hm?” _

_ “Loving someone.” _

Such a question must have surely sounded stupid coming from him. But something about Linhardt, the arch of his brows, the temperate tone with which he spoke, the closeness between him and Felix, growing smaller before a force unseen, gravity pulling them together. All of it made him seem worth trusting. If anybody could answer his question, Linhardt would be the one.

_ “I must apologize for I am no poet, but”, _ and he took a moment to think it through, for this question begged for an honest answer, a truth in exchange for a truth, _ “it is a warmth, deep within yourself, a heat that lights you up endlessly yet does not burn.” _ Linhardt straightened up with a deep breath, as if the very words pulled him closer to the heavens above. _ “Love is wanting everything that is good in life for those you care for, no matter the expenses you may inquire. And sometimes, that means loving those who are loved, in turn, by your most beloved.” _

His voice ebbed low as he finished, and Linhardt turned to face him. The heat he spoke of brightened his features, dusting them in a light pink shade that captivated Felix. It was love. Love had entwined with his very existence, giving him the appearance of an angelic creature. Pallid, but alive in ways unrecognizable to Felix outside of his dreams. 

Outside of that moment. 

He did not know how to love. The edge of his sword had been poisoned, steeped in rational thought to protect both him and those he held most dear. It had taught him how to survive, how to live with dignity and respect the profundity of life for there was none other like it. But it spoke not of love and the matters of the heart.

And still, there, hot on Linhardt’s lips, he could taste it, feel it, drown himself in it. 

A demure kiss, so unlike the sharpness of his jaw, upon which Linhardt let his hand rest. He kept Felix there, steady, kept him from running away as soon as the realization of what he had done dawned on him. Love insurance. An offering to allow for an explanation of his actions that only Linhardt could give him. 

_ “Felix…” _

_ “Shit, Linhardt. I’m so sorry.” _ That, alone, was not enough to keep him there though. Felix pulled away, spurned by what he had deemed an intrusion. He fretted all the while. _ “I can’t believe I did that. To Sylvain, to you, of all people—” _

_ “Felix.” _ He was stern when he grabbed Felix’s wrist, tightly enough to anchor him through the storm that was his mind and heart. _ “Pace yourself.” _

The worry that had marred his face dissipated like fog torn apart when Linhardt squeezed, watching him with reassurance and a calm that beckoned his own worries to disperse at once. Still, he weighed his thoughts for a few breaths before taking a seat to join him again. 

_ “I apologize, Linhardt. It wasn’t my place to do that.” _

_ “It’s hardly a wonder that the two of you have been running circles around each other for a lifetime. Idiots. That is what you both are.” _

This time, if one had not been enough, he would use two hands to keep him grounded. 

Linhardt cupped his face in his palms, pulling himself onto Felix in a kiss more resolute than the one before. He latched onto him closely, fingers rigid as he held on, held for dear life because Felix had been falling. Days, months, years spent falling, and Linhardt knew it was within his powers to break his fall. They would share the damage, share the knowledge and the fire he could feel spread to Felix, from his neck to his ears. 

This was it.

All his practice with Sylvain had been weaponized, it seemed to him, for that very instant. A sword sharper than any weapon Felix had had the pleasure of holding prior to that day. 

And it was then that he understood, at long last. 

His own hand buried itself into Linhardt’s hair, holding the back of his head where Felix could wield him at his own leisure. He did not know it yet, but that was exactly what it took to break the blade in. Linhardt’s knees melted, and as they were both standing, he slumped down to where Felix could follow, sinking into the pleasure that was his tongue coming down in a wave upon his own. Still hazarding guesses at where the boundaries had been drawn, pushing forwards alert, Felix fought a war with himself and Linhardt allowed him to turn his mouth into a battlefield, a killing floor for every insecurity that had plagued his mind, atrophied his heart. 

Entwined together, their tongues drew the length of their counterpart, mingling together in the warmth of their bodies, heat rising. Linhardt, pushing him down to lay upon the bench, settled himself on top, and Felix gave in, heeding his call without a doubt because his mind had been cleared up, cleansed entirely by the flame.

Like that, they kissed a while, leisurely indulging in each other’s presence. Uninterrupted outside of the few times Linhardt resurfaced, mostly to breathe, but the sight of Felix disheveled beneath gave him incentive to keep pursuing him.

The end eclipsed over them. 

Linhardt, reluctantly pulling back, laid his head against Felix. Forehead pressed to his jaw, chin cradled by his collarbone, he inhaled a mild breath. Instinctively, Felix wrapped his arm around his waist and held him there. Maybe to cut off his only means of fleeing, or maybe to save face, denying him the sight of his visage. Nothing seemed to get by him, and Felix needed time to compose himself. He couldn’t allow Linhardt to unpack him any further than he already had.

But how long could he keep it up?

Snaking along the expanse of his shoulders, then down, Linhardt reached for his free hand and seized it in his own. With fingers interlocked, he brought the union to his lips and brushed a kiss along Felix’s knuckles. 

_ “What now?” _

_ “Mhm.” _ Linhardt purred, nuzzling his face closer into Felix. _ “A nap sounds lovely right about now?” _

Surely, he should have protested. Sylvain was somewhere out there, unaware, and Felix had already overstepped, trampling upon his and Linhardt’s kindness with soiled shoes. Surely. Surely…

But he was right. A moment of respite was much needed. 

_ “Yeah, sure. We can sleep for a bit.” _Though he could not see it, a smile buried itself into his skin, at the place where Linhardt burrowed. 

_ “We’ll go to him together after. I promise, you won’t be alone.” _

The language of promises is one Felix knew too well, a weakness he could not overcome. It ruled him, and though Linhardt did not know, it submitted Felix to his whims. He trusted him, not because he had no reason to doubt him, but because he wanted to. Felix wanted nothing more than to trust him. 

All his hopes and dreams rested there, on his chest, where two hearts beat together, where Linhardt was already fast asleep. By the time he spoke, his words would go unheard, but Felix insisted on speaking anyway. Linhardt was deserving of his grace. 

_ “I’ll be waiting for you.” _

Which he did, even in his slumber. Always waiting

✿ ✿ ✿

Felix chewed at his lip viciously, punishing it for his own transgressions. His hands curled into fists, hanging heavy by his sides, and he cast his eyes to the ground, letting them linger on the crevices between each stone that paved the pathway. 

_ “I’m sorry.” _And then he was instantly pulled into Sylvain’s embrace, infinite in its reach. Felix’s head laid upon his chest rested there, where he could breathe unhindered for the first time in what felt like too long, his heart and mind now cleared of their fog. 

_ “There is nothing to apologize. Nothing I ever faulted you for.” _It might have been that Sylvain spoke for himself, to protect his own heart from that cruelty Felix enacted upon him. And yet, when his hand came to stroke at the back of his head, fingertips brushing circles into his skin, Felix understood that everything was for him and him alone. The corners of his eyes stung. 

Understanding came under the guise of Felix’s arm winding tight around Sylvain’s neck, body standing on its toes to reach those parts of him that sat outside his usual grasp, and he kissed him. A shadow of a peck on his lips that fluttered into existence and then out of it. Yet, Sylvain had other intentions, as usual, that conflicted with what Felix wanted. What he thought he wanted. 

He came down upon him in a flurry of kisses, lips washing every spot on his face with childlike affection, innocent naivete driving him until Felix shoved him off, keeping him at arm’s length from where he gripped his shoulders tightly. 

_ “Don’t make me regret my decision.” _

_ “Nah, you can’t take it back now. I’ve got it locked tight here and here.” _He tapped at his temple, then moving to his chest, hand hovering over his heart. 

_ “Don’t try me, Sylvain.” _

_ “But I can.” _ Linhardt chimed in with that smug grin of his, that knowing look that, by then, he _ must _ have known could disarm Felix entirely. His arms dropped to where Sylvain could hook their fingers together. _ “I will play witness. Goddess knows, I have been since the beginning.” _

_ “What if I told you I’ve got a better part for you to play?” _

_ “Oh? Pray-tell. I am dying to know.” _He followed his feet to where Sylvain’s other hand laid open for him to take, and he joined the two by their side as if he had always been there. 

_ “Sylvain’s wives, played by Linhardt and Felix jointly.” _

Felix’s response was instant, an elbow to the gut, and Sylvain hunched over in pain with a gasp when the air was knocked out of him. Linhardt, as always, was far more subtle, far more dangerous in his speech. He was a deathly foe, even by Felix's standards.

_ “Ah. Perhaps I might also offer you a better part?” _ Turning to the side, Linhardt reached to bring his knuckles up, dusting a kiss upon them with his lips that had Felix at the edge of his toes, inching ever closer. _ “The role of the beggar who has lost both of his wives to each other.” _

His voice hung in that space left empty by his body as he leaned down to meet Felix’s lips with his in that same type of kiss Linhardt had been pressing into him with every occasion. Unlike Sylvain, whose kisses burned hot with fervour, whose lips trembled with the force of the oncoming blaze he had been holding back, Linhardt kissed quietly. He was neither cold nor warm, but there was a certain weight to his grip when he clutched Felix’s hand in his, when he drew his breath for as long as it could go so that he might delay having to pull back. 

Sylvain was quick and short, working in short bursts of flame, singing him with each touch, each breath. But Linhardt, he kept Felix suspended, breathless, swallowed whole by his nebulous existence. A black hole.

Between the two of them, Felix was getting lost. 

_ “You’re so mean, Lin. Both of you ganging up on me.” _Sylvain whined, enveloping the two of them in his arms, broad and warm. 

_ “Somebody has to. Goddess forbid you go unsupervised.” _ Linhardt purred. Even if he _ was _ serious, his tone was indulgent. Sylvain would never learn like this. And yet, Felix found himself seeing how perfect they were for one another. The way Linhardt covered his mouth when speaking, to hide the smile Sylvain did not fail to rouse within him. The way Sylvain’s eyes melted each time he gazed upon Linhardt’s softness, relentless in their adoration. This was love. 

He watched the space between them grow, if only until—_”The inside of your head is no place to be, Felix, not when there's so much more for you out here.” _

Before he knew it, Linhardt had grabbed a tight hold of him, leaving no semblance of a gap between them, and for all Felix felt—confusion, uncertainty, warmth—he knew it to be an undeniable truth. 

The stars outside were endlessly brighter. 

✿ ✿ ✿

They were, however, relentless. 

Between the two of them, Felix was spread so thin he might as well have faded completely out of existence.

Understandably so, Sylvain had a lifetime of missed chances to make up for, enough work to keep him busy for another one, and he started at once without putting it off any longer. Each time Felix entered his field of view, he would draw up to his side like an arrow shot from the taut string of a bow, purpose and dedication concentrated in his fingertips. He would corner Felix in whatever spot he happened to be, trapping him against the closest wall, enveloping him in the heat of his body, the touch of Sylvain's lips laid to rest upon his own. Kiss after kiss he would reassure Felix, reassure himself, that this was the start of something bigger than all those years they had spent pining for one another, running circles around each other like myopic fools, unable to see the other's feelings from their own. 

Despite all the fuss he was kicking up, Felix may have not minded such displays of intimacy were it not for two crucial factors. The first of them being that it _was_ Felix on the receiving end. Making a fuss out of nothing and everything was his signature move. The second, even more simply—Sylvain was the one imposing upon him at the worst of times. A little control on his end may have made a world of difference, but then he had come onto Felix in the middle of a full house, during a strategic meeting between him, the Professor, and a number of other key players, all of which had gone mute when Sylvain dipped him effortlessly and made out with him in front of everyone. Felix, of course, had plenty to say after that, and he didn't mind letting his fists do the talking for him. 

On the other hand, there was Linhardt, who, at the very least, was infinitely more sensible. It was that same sensitivity, however, that made him a formidable match.

Unlike Sylvain, he played in private, and play it was, for he tugged melodies out of Felix's heartstrings one pinch at a time. Linhardt would take him to his room, hand in hand down the hallway, ducking the whispers and the murmurs because, to him, they were precisely that. _Nothing._ Empty words without real bearing. To Felix, not so much, but then Linhardt would glance over his shoulder, the glint of a cold flame ever-present in his eye, one that lulled his anxieties back to slumber. 

He moved at a wholly different pace, languorously, and it was only by his side that Felix felt as if the world slowed down, if only briefly, falling pitifully to its knees before a man that made his own rules, his own law. The confines of his chamber, too, felt like the inside of a dimension separate from the reality that awaited on the other side of the door. Linhardt rewrote time whenever he ran his fingers through Felix's hair, passing time through his tresses, curling it around his digits, twirling and turning it over and over again in his hands. They would read together, Felix's head propped up against his ribcage, Linhardt's free hand tangling itself endlessly at the back of his head, a small but meaningful comfort that would remain with Felix long after he departed. 

Still, it was together that they posed the biggest threat.

Sylvain from behind, letting Felix sink into his chest, the embrace of his arms around his waist, hands running along his thighs in a mild movement. And Linhardt before him, propping himself up with his hands in between Felix's legs, running his lips in long strides along the keen edge of his jaw, the bony ridge of his collarbones, deflowering him with kisses or the lap of his tongue inside a skin crevice. 

Just like that, they would turn Felix into a breathless mess, making a haunting spot of his body with ghostly touches, reminders of a fire growing from within. 

But where Sylvain was the sun, burning himself alive to keep them all warm, Felix was the moon, waning as he turned tide after tide against any who dared to chase after him. Together, they were untouchable, unattainable to each other and everybody else, regardless of how high a prayer was sung, hands clasped and pointed to the heavens. A plea for the goddess to lower the horizons within arm's reach. 

But the goddess had long ago stopped listening, and so, their voices were exhausted in vain. All except for the one that did not speak. 

Linhardt spun along his own orbit, gravitational pull so strong and ruthless, showing no pity, no remorse as it claimed heart after heart. The ground he walked was one of his own making, a world where rules were as fleeting as time, written in ink, pigment that could easily be blotted out. 

In a tale such as this, Linhardt was the tapestry of stars that stretched between them, illuminating a trail of soft touches from the arms of the sun to the cheek of the moon. A pathway woven out of the sands of sleep, hopes and dreams mere mortals would not so much as indulge their thoughts in. But, of course, Sylvain and Felix were both foolish to the bone, and they did not _ just _ dare to think. They rushed down along the path, so that they could meet at the center of everything that was holy in this wicked universe, seizing fate within their own hands, holding him as dear to their hearts as they held each other. 

Their first time together, all three of them, was something they would look back at fondly for many years after. 

Between them, Linhardt sighed blissfully, relaxing into their hold while leaning back into Felix. Sylvain’s hands roamed his chest with enough weight that he could not question their presence, yet lightly enough to leave his thoughts spinning out of orbit, wondering when, if ever, he would commit himself to touching him in earnest. Behind, Felix held his hair up in a fist, leaving the back of his neck open and defenseless. He kissed him there, humming content at the flush that seeped out of his skin, growing darker gradually at the prolonged contact. 

_ “Felix…” _Sylvain’s voice breezed by Linhardt, who became inebriated on affection, on the tenderness with which they marked him, all lips and fingertips laying worship on his body. Belief would come far easier to him from then on. 

Peeking over Linhardt's shoulder, Felix settled his chin there, looking up at Sylvain with a temperate expression. He had laid his weapons at the foot of the bed already so long ago, looking up with a certain meekness to where Linhardt had been watching him, perched on his knees like some heavenly being catching sight of his subjects. Still, even from that place far above, he was prostrated, reverent beneath the charms he had cast upon his two lovers unknowingly. 

Sylvain was thankful for it. Moving closer, he caught Felix’s lips in a kiss, one of their first real kisses. No messing around, making pretenses at not being in love, trying to convince himself a life not spent at Felix’s side was any life at all. Because it wasn’t. Felix _ was _ his life, and now, Linhardt shared in on that, too.

And even so, it came as a surprise that Felix did not oppose him. Unquestioningly, he tilted his head to accommodate the union and waited for him where Sylvain could earn the satisfaction of finally, _ finally _ kissing Felix Hugo Fraldarius in earnest. 

His lips were softer than his bark, taste sweeter than his bite, and Sylvain revelled in every bit of it with a low, drawn-out groan that signalled the release of years of fantasizing what it might all be like. It was better, far better than any dream, any hope, any wish or prayer he may have wasted at the monastery. Paradise really did exist, it was there, in Linhardt’s small, and rather dusty dorm room, in the bird’s eye view of shelves and stacks of books and notepads. A familiar setting, at the end of the day, but with a new fixture added to it. 

And he caught himself thinking that if paradise was real, if it was right there, on his lips, in his hands, then religious fool could have had it. But despite all his waiting, it always ended up being just the three of them. The truly lucky ones.

Their mouths worked against each other, gasping sharply for air before enclosing once more around each other. Sylvain did not resist prying his lips open for too long, tongue eager to unearth more flavours, more sounds, more sights of Felix. But that was where his compliance ended and defiance began. He pushed back against Sylvain, tugging his tongue into his mouth only so he could suck and nip at it, running the edge of his teeth along the muscle, sharpening him for better use later. 

At the same time, Felix’s hands descended upon Linhardt’s hips, snaking around his waist until they met in the middle, at the crotch of his pants where he was steadily growing tighter. He rubbed there, feeling him up through the fabric and humming a sound of pleasure at seeing the effect he had over him. Linhardt, in turn, wound his own arms around Sylvain’s shoulders and pulled him closer yet, if that was even possible, gluing their chests together. His hips rolled into Felix’s grasp and his face buried itself in Sylvain’s neck, muffling the steady moans that fled out of him. 

They took their time like that, seconds giving way to minutes. After spending so much time pining away, it would hardly matter if they dragged it out a bit longer. But, eventually, Sylvain and Felix parted their heated faces, resuming their earlier work on preparing Linhardt for the feast of feasts.

Tonight belonged, most of all, to him. 

Prying himself out of Linhardt’s embrace, Sylvain grabbed a hold of his chin, tilting his head back so that he could catch him in a kiss of their own. A little one, for the time being. Something to tide him over. 

_ “Would you mind helping Felix out?” _ Gently, Sylvain’s lips brushed along the shell of Linhardt’s ear, his voice a ghostly whisper, see-through like glass. His intentions were unmistakable. _ “I’ll take care of you in the meantime.” _

Living without Sylvain’s promises had become inconceivable, because with each wag of his tongue, he swore oaths and vows that seemed hardly realistic, and yet he never once failed to deliver. Felix knew that best of all, that nothing could deter him from keeping true to his word. It was both admirable and frustrating.

With a soft peck, Sylvain released him, and Linhardt, nodding, shuffled to turn and face Felix. He shared the same affection Sylvain had just bestowed upon him, kissing him while pushing him onto his back and climbing into his lap. The mattress sunk beneath him, welcoming Felix into its arms, making him feel welcomed as he was left there on his own. Linhardt stood upright and, with a small smile that could have been mistaken for a grin, shushed him, his index finger vertical across his lips. 

Had there been anything worth saying, Felix may still have not lent the words his voice, but nothing would be left to say, not when Linhardt would snatch his tongue right out of his mouth without so much as touching him. 

He stretched his spine, elongating himself like a cat risen from its nap. And as he did so, the shadow cast upon Felix grew to its largest, consuming him whole. This was the point of no return, not just for him, _ no, _ for all of them. From behind, Sylvain’s arms emerged, coiling around his body, dropping buttons undone in their wake until Linhardt could shrug his coat and his shirt off, leaving him exposed from the middle up, subject to Sylvain’s mercy or lack thereof. His hands settled on Linhardt's chest, fingertips pressing over his nipples, rolling them gently, pinching them more forcefully. 

From underneath, Felix could not help watching, touching, his own hands grabbing onto his hips, where his fingers could bury themselves between his bones, digging in with a tender-edged ferocity only somebody like him could wield. It earned both him and Sylvain a soft mewl, quiet and shaky as it surrendered itself to them. 

_ “He’s sensitive there. Aren’t you, Lin?” _Sylvain teased, his mouth breathing lines along his neck. 

_ “It will do you good to stop teasing me, lest you’d deprive Felix of his fair share of attention.” _Linhardt hissed, eliciting laughter from him, loud and hearty as it thundered through the intimacy of the earlier atmosphere. Felix rolled his eyes. Even in a position like this, he didn't change one bit. 

_ “Go on, then. Work your magic.” _And he distanced himself, reason unknown to him until a second later, when Linhardt slid between his legs, ass suspending up in the air, but his face, his face was a breath’s length away from his growing erection. Just the thought of it, since Felix couldn't actually feel it, made him throb in anticipation. 

It didn’t feel right. 

Linhardt and that angelic face, the pristine porcelain of his skin reflected the candles’ light, and his brilliance glimmered, blinding Felix the more he looked. Yet, he could not pry his eyes away, and it was that stare that lit awareness to his cheeks, turning them a deep shade of wine. 

Love was a stranger still, and yet, if Felix had had the voice to speak it, he would have ventured a guess that this was it. 

_ “Linhardt, your hair.” _

_ “Only if you'll return the favour.” _And even so, he answered Felix’s beckoning without waiting for a reply, not because he did not wish to listen, but because Linhardt did not need to hear it spoken before knowing his answer for what it truly was. 

The ribbon was undone with one deft movement, a tug and it hung loosely between his fingers, now purposeless. But not for long. A smirk stretched across his face, and he reached for Felix’s wrist, bringing it up to where he could nuzzle his cheek into it. 

_ “There. Keep it safe for me, won’t you?” _He had tied it in a neat bow around Felix, who, speechless, found himself unable to do anything aside from nodding. His face tinted, and he treasured the firm grip of the riband biting at his skin. A constant reminder that Felix had been claimed, accepted as a part of their loving affair. 

Linhardt had been right all along.

Felix was warm. Warm beneath a thousand suns hidden behind Sylvain’s lips, blazing in his eyes. Sunrays melting into his skin when Sylvain first held him, when Sylvain first kissed him. _ Endlessly _warm.

And Linhardt stood his ground besides them. A cluster of stars, like stained glass, borrowing light from the sun only to cast it upon Felix, bathing him in colour, in faith, tempting him to swear allegiance to something greater than the Goddess. Linhardt fell upon him, bit by bit, an arm, a hand, his hair, lips and mouth lighting up his skin, a meteor shower. 

_ They _ were warm together, huddled so closely, but it did not burn. 

Not one bit. 

_ “You never let me hold on to it anymore.” _Sylvain pouted, whining as he rubbed his face in Linhardt’s back. 

_ “I won’t give you a second chance at losing it.” _

_ “But! I’ve already apologized!” _

_ “Hush now. You’ve got better things to do, don’t you?” _

Of course that would grab his attention. 

Sylvain grinned, and as he did so, he worked at Linhardt’s pants until he could shrug them off entirely. His underwear, too, followed closely behind, leaving him naked, the only one out of the three of them that was fully exposed. 

_ “Yeah, that’s better.” _ Wasting no other breath, Sylvain covered his fingers up in a thick layer of lubricant, and, moving gently, worked them past the ring of muscle.

Before him, Linhardt shuddered. His knees stuttered, and with a keen sigh, eyelids fluttering open and closed in a frenzy, he dropped between Felix’s legs, face buried for good into the fabric. The sight of him, helpless and at the mercy of their lust, alone was enough to make Felix’s cock twitch painfully. The feeling of Linhardt’s breath, now an honest reality, his mouth so close to it, drove him mad. 

_ “Ah, Sylvain. Please…” _

_ “Mhm.” _ Sylvain hummed, a low purr lining his voice. He was lost to the game, already far too into it. _ “Be a good boy, and I’ll let you have more. But look. Felix must be feeling awfully neglected by now.” _

At that, Felix swallowed dryly. There hadn’t been enough time to get accustomed to this contest they were taking part in, and yet, he thought he understood. Or, at least, some part of him did. His hand rooted itself at the top of Linhardt’s head, palm fisted firmly around his hair. Gently, he urged him on with a small tug.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Linhardt, entranced, moved quickly and efficiently to get him out of his clothes. Half a breath and Felix’s cock reared up, bopping in an arc until it hit his navel, but only dawdling there for a moment before Linhardt had grasped it. He gave it a couple of pumps, gauging size, thickness, feel as quickly as he could, and once satisfied, that was it. 

His lips wrapped around its head, savouring the little bit of precum that had leaked out with a soft purr, a low vibration that stole a deep groan from Felix. Finally, he relaxed, leaning back into the horde of pillows Linhardt had amassed. They welcomed him, swallowing him up as he sank into them. 

It was overwhelming. Linhardt’s mouth was tight and wet, and he worked with precision, taking all of him in one smooth movement until Felix felt his cock hit the back of his throat. As he moved along its length, his tongue stroked the underside of the muscle, and his teeth grazed the skin, just enough to add an edge Felix could have never guessed he’d enjoy. Which he did, very much so. 

Though he could not see it, his face must have been red, his cheeks pulsing with a divine mixture of shame and elation because nothing had ever felt quite like it. Not Sylvain’s stray and persistent touches, not the time they had foolishly kissed, drunk on a bottle of wine they had swiped from the kitchen, and definitely not anything they had done leading up to that moment. None of it had felt bad, but none of it had left like _ this. _His arm came up, and abashedly, Felix covered his eyes with it. 

But that could not hide him from the one who was watching. 

Satisfied, Sylvain took a deep breath, composing himself for a brief moment. He had brought in a second finger, the two of which stretched Linhardt out with ease. With his other hand, he held onto his hip, making sure that regardless of how stimulated he got, Linhardt would maintain his position. _ That _ was the practical use of it, but truth be told, it was just as much a way for him to keep himself moored to them. 

Believing that what was currently happening was, in fact, real, that it was not some wet dream, some fantasy concocted by his lovesick mind, came hard to him. But _ this _ was the genuine thing. The two men loved most by him were not only within arm’s reach, but they were laid bare, wide open upon the same bed he frequented. They had reciprocated his feelings and, now that the vow had been sworn, they would consummate it.

He came upon Linhardt like a warm, summer shower, beating kisses gently into his back. His lips landed at the base of his neck, and he travelled down the expanse of his spine, counting vertebrae after vertebrae until he reached his tail bone. There, arched like a cat, he nipped at the thin skin without hopes of marking, seeking only to rattle Linhardt out of focus, to assert a dominance that called his own agency into question. 

Because he belonged to Sylvain. And that isn't to say that his was sole ownership because they all belonged to each other, first and foremost, but Sylvain was a fickle creature needing reassurance at every step. This was just his way of getting it. 

Fingers dug possessively into the flesh of his hips, dragging Linhardt back to that place between them where he began to fall apart, knees bucking and body stiffening. First with Sylvain’s fingers, prodding at his deepest recesses, stimulating his prostate with vicious strokes, then with Felix’s cock, hitting the back of his throat mercilessly. His fingers had taken up reins within locks of his hair, pulling him down until he was throat-fucking him unknowingly and he came with a keen gasp that had all of their attention on Felix. Linhardt audibly gagged, a few pearls of cum spilling out from the corner of his mouth, but the rest went down easily, forcing itself down his throat. 

_ “My, my. That good, huh?” _Sylvain cooed, pulling his digits free from inside Linhardt. He sat back on his feet, knees tucked beneath him, and admired that lewd scene which he had orchestrated. 

_ “Linhardt.” _ As realization cleared the post-orgasm haze that settled upon his mind, Felix jutted forward, reaching to pull him up by the cheeks. _ “I—I’m so sorry. I should have been more careful.” _

But that wasn’t the case. 

Sitting up on his arms, body seated behind him, Linhardt peered up at him. His eyes slung open and closed lazily, too heavy with the weight of his arousal to be bothered with effort. 

_ “Don’t apologize. I enjoyed it. I’ve asked Sylvain before, but he won’t oblige.” _

_ “It’s cause I can’t take it.” _ With Linhardt and Felix’s eyes on him, Sylvain turned away but could not hide the flush of his cheeks. _ “You’re way too erotic like that…” _

_ “Is that so?” _ He turned from one to another, his head tilted a little as he spoke. _ “Do you agree with him, Felix?” _

_ Headshot. _

Felix felt his head grow lighter as his body temperature shot up. He was finding it harder than ever to look Linhardt in his beckoning eyes, so he fixated on the blanket, the subtle pattern in the duvet, threads intermingling in what he had never realized was a rather intricate weave. 

A moment later, Linhardt’s slate blue irises slid into his field of vision, the rest of his face following behind. He peered at Felix from below, his eyebrows arched in a persistent question, and, from there, Felix took notice of his red-tipped ears, the glaze that coated his lips, undoubtedly of his own making, their rawness as they pursed tighter at his silence. 

There were no proper words to answer him. Instead, a kiss. 

Felix swooped down, hands cupped tightly around his face, and he pulled Linhardt up onto his knees so they could kiss, deeply, tenderly, an answer to his question, a sequel for their previous story. Where words would fail him, his lips would not. That much he swore to, upon Linhardt’s lips, upon his tongue, which had been dipped in his love. 

Before him, Linhardt was soothed into his hold, loosening up into the touch like a man caught up in a most pleasurable dream. He hummed delightfully, purring sweet moans into Felix’s mouth, a waterfall of sounds flowing down his throat, into his belly, and between his legs, where they tugged his cock back to life. Linhardt’s hand snaked down his chest to grip it, pumping it in broad, slow strokes, and when he pulled away from the kiss, he did so with a small smile. Not a grin, no, just an honest smile. 

_ “I will take this as your answer then.” _ And giving his dick an affectionate squeeze, Linhardt turned to Sylvain. _ “The two of you should go first.” _

_ “You kidding?” _ Sylvain came up behind him in an instant, wrapping his broad arms around Linhardt’s waist and drawing him into a warm embrace. He rested his chin atop his head, grinding it there gently. A mischievous little tease. _ “Stay right where you are. You’re perfect there.” _

He was silent at that, his brows wrinkling as he rationalized through Sylvain’s words. It was a habit, then, Felix took note. The way he paused briefly to retreat into his own mind, where everything must have made far more sense than it did out there. 

_ “In retrospect, it might be selfish of me, wanting the both of you to myself.” _ His voice was quiet. “ _ But I find myself wanting to see the two of you together by my side. On your own, you’re just no good.” _

He ended on a laughing note, and Sylvain, despite all his admonishing, the _ you’re so mean, Lin, just like Felix, _was clearly amused by the comment. But Felix stood rooted in his seat, turning gear after gear, trying to unknot the tangled mess that was his mind, his heart, his body. On his own, it was too much. 

_“Stay, then.” _Pulling forward, he crawled to where they stood, coming up on his knees before Linhardt. And though he could not look him properly, Felix held his ground, hands tight upon his knees. _“You belong with us, now. Maybe you always have.” _

Unexpected as it was, Sylvain’s eyes questioning, Linhardt’s lips pulled taut, this, too, was Felix. Rough around the edges, but endlessly soft on the inside. 

_ “I’m not going anywhere.” _

Linhardt’s message was loud, though he did not speak. He reached to grab a fistful of Sylvain’s shirt, tugging on him to descend to where they could all meet together, and Felix rose to the occasion, leaving a peck on Sylvain’s lips, one on Linhardt’s. 

_ “Now, no more talking.” _

And that, too, was something they agreed on. 

Knowingly, Sylvain shared the little bottle of oil with Linhardt, who slicked Felix up before working the excess into himself. One last time, if only to make sure Sylvain hadn’t slacked off while watching them earlier. Then, he pushed Felix back to where he could sit up, and seeing him work himself up into a protest, unsure of what exactly it was that he and Sylvain had planned, Linhardt silenced him once more with a peck. 

_ Trust. _Felix deflated, keeping his eyes trained on Linhardt without that questioning curve in his brow. 

But he was going to be kept in the dark regardless.

Linhardt turned around to face Sylvain, who seemed just as surprised, just as curious as Felix, though he met him with a grin. He straddled Felix and grabbed a hold of his cock, placing himself over it before pushing down onto it, slowly, gradually, taking all of it inside him in one long sigh until there was nowhere else left for him to go. 

_ “Shit. So that’s what it looks like from the outside.” _Of course Sylvain would be the one to break their vow. His eyes poured over Linhardt, the way his chest rose and fluttered flat again, the way his skin glistened with sweat, the way his eyes drooped closed as he felt every little bit of Felix inside him. Linhardt was the type to dawdle, savouring up everything he could in one go before even considering moving on. It was no different when it came to sex. 

His hands gripped Felix’s thighs, holding himself steady in the face of an overwhelming surge of sensation. The position they were in had his cock hitting the deepest recesses of Linhardt, just slightly off of that spot he knew could undo him in one fell swoop. So, he waited, patiently, until he was sure he could move without fearing an early end. 

Beneath him, Felix’s eyes narrowed. He was overwhelmed again, drunk on Linhardt again, Linhardt and that slender waist of his, the curvature of his spine as he inhaled and exhaled, the translucency of his skin in the low lighting of the room. It was funny, though. He looked at home there, like maybe he really had always belonged with him. And Felix was the one breaking. He uttered a small thanks in his mind, knowing just as well that if Linhardt moved he might embarrass himself further, and with Sylvain there, it was really not the time. 

Watching had proven to be far more enjoyable than he had first thought. Sylvain knew himself well enough to guess that seeing the two people he cared for most getting it on would be nothing short of a turn on, but _ this _had long since exceeded his expectations. He was devastatingly hard, his dick throbbing solid between his legs, and maybe he was a masochist because Sylvain stubbornly refused to touch it, swallowing up that subtle edging of his pleasure. 

_ Not yet_, he thought, enveloping Linhardt’s frame in one of his arms and leaning down to where he could press his lips to one of his nipples. Above him, a gasp, a moan, and then fingers rooting in his hair, pushing him against his skin. 

Linhardt felt Sylvain’s grin press there, and despite not catching the sight of it, his chest did a funny little tumble that had his stomach jumping into his throat for joy. A breath later and he was mewling, his tongue unscrewed loose by Sylvain’s tongue teasing him, his teeth grinding harshly on the nipple, his fingers plucking at the other. Since when had he become so adept at shattering him, one lick, one bite, one mark at a time.

He sucked at the skin there until he could see the bruises forming, and then Sylvain realized it wasn’t enough. Linhardt would look so achingly beautiful with his skin marred with every blemish he could inflict upon him. His nails dragged up his sides, down his stomach, and he watched the welts bloom and swell, pink then red, until Linhardt was no longer as pale as he had once been. 

Felix bit back, and when that wasn’t enough to keep him grounded, he heaved abuse at his lip, pulling at it, biting it until he was sure it would tear. Whatever Sylvain was doing got back to him, Linhardt tightening around him, seizing his cock as deep as it could go when his muscles contracted into a firm embrace. 

He planted his hands on Linhardt’s hips, and then, unapologetically, he began moving him into a slow roll. His cock seemed to melt inside the heat, and with it, Linhardt, too, slumped a little lower with a soft cry. Felix had coaxed him into moving his hips, despite his better judgement, taking a gamble on how long he’d last with not one, but two men ravishing him. They reached a steady rhythm, Linhardt pulling and pushing, Felix meeting him halfway where his cock struck at him.

_ “A-Ah! Felix...Sylvain…” _

The second to break. Felix caught himself thinking that he was surprised he had lasted that long. 

_ “Does it feel good, being spoiled by both of us like this?” _

_ “Yeah.” _ Felix could hear the smile in his voice, could imagine the curl of his lip when he dragged his teeth along it as if he was sharpening a blade, and he revelled in the sight while watching from behind. _ “So good…” _

Sylvain huffed a little sound of appreciation, sliding lower down Linhardt’s torso until he was laid on his stomach. Mercilessly, he took his cock in his mouth, not bothering with any other foreplay, just burying it from tip to base in his mouth. It hit the back of his throat and maybe even slipped past. Linhardt most certainly couldn’t tell anything besides how hot he felt all over, being tag teamed that way. 

He slipped into a comfortable babble, moans and gasps and the occasional purr. His pace quickened, pushing back against Felix, jolting upwards into Sylvain’s mouth. It became frantic, desperate, no longer able to discern anything beside the pure, unadulterated rapture, ripping him in half. 

At this rate, Felix would end up coming without so much as laying eyes upon Linhardt’s blissed out expression, and, unsurprisingly, that angered him. 

_ “Stop.” _He pushed Linhardt off of him, who startled and almost stumbled forward into a Sylvain that finally got his just desserts and began choking. 

_ “What the hell, man?” _ Obviously, it hadn’t been serious enough for him to shut up. 

_ “I want to see you.” _ He muttered, pulling Linhardt to the side and trading their positions until he was laying back with Felix hovering over him. _ “Yeah, just like that.” _

His hand found a place on Linhardt’s cheek, who appeared to relax into the touch, his eyes falling closed briefly. Then, it was his hand coming upon Felix’s, keeping it there, keeping it steady. 

_ “Thank you for telling me.” _ A fond smile, and then his arms extended towards him, welcoming Felix into his arm, so innocently, so lovingly. A siren’s call to return home. _ “Come.” _

Felix pushed his thighs back, folding his legs on either side of his body. He slid back inside him with an ease that left a smile on his face, one that had Linhardt opening his eyes wider, had him moaning a sweet little sound, and they settled back into their rhythm as if there had been no interruption. 

_ “You’ve become such a sap in so short a time.” Sylvain_. His breath brushed his ear and Felix shivered, cock twitching inside Linhardt. He was so very close, the heat coming off of his body wrapping around Felix like a fur blanket in the heart of winter. Suddenly, it had become so hot he began sweating, and then he was almost cold. _ “I could get used to this.” _

_ “Shut up.” _A bark that did not deter him. 

For Sylvain was, indeed, so very close. The smallest of movements was made and his lips were on Felix, kissing a trail as he journeyed along his spine to the small of his back, and then his hand, wet and oily, outlined the curvature and the dip of his ass, finger teasing his entrance. 

_ Oh. _

He turned his head, ready to object, but Linhardt’s arms wreathed around his neck at that exact moment, pulling him down into a kiss that kept him quiet, made him forget about Sylvain briefly. Planned or not, Felix was unsure, but Sylvain and Linhardt made a great team. 

The first finger went unnoticed until Sylvain began to wiggle it, rubbing at the inner walls of muscles, seeking entrance further. But Felix was too dazed to mind. In fact, it felt good. The touch added a new flame to his movements, and he began to snap his hips eagerly into Linhardt, backing up onto Sylvain’s digit just as enthusiastically. 

_ “Mhm, you look perfect like this, Felix. Yeah, just like that.” _Sylvain took to narrating while watching Felix, feeling him stretching and tightening in one go. A second finger joined in, a third not too long after, and he worked him open until he was sure Felix would be able to take him. 

From then on, everything moved a lot quicker.

Almost cruelly, Sylvain shoved himself as far as he could go into Felix, forcing the both of them into Linhardt with little regard to how much it might be for him. That or he knew that having both of them push into him wouldn’t be enough to break him. It did, however, send him reeling into a fit of moans. His hands slid down Felix’s shoulders, scratching viciously at the skin there. But they stopped soon after, perhaps because Sylvain _ did _ have _ some _mercy left to spare. He waited for all of them to get accustomed to the feeling, the mechanics of three bodies trying to work seamlessly with each other without leaving anybody out. 

Felix heaved, barely holding himself up. His forearms shook beneath the weight of Sylvain, above the forceful pull of Linhardt, clinging to him like a cat. It was so unbearably hot there, sandwiched between two feverish bodies, but he was in too deep to think about pulling out now. So, Felix focused on evening out his breath, trying his best to forget the sensation of Linhardt squeezing down on him, of his own body being filled by Sylvain. Tried and failed. This was more than he had bargained for. Linhardt’s thighs shook, his body taking upon itself a low tremble, endeavouring in vain to calm down after Sylvain’s earlier antics. He just had to show off, didn’t he? 

A chill prickled his skin when Felix shifted to prop himself back up, and each time he did so, Linhardt was reminded of just how tacky his skin had become after sweating that much. If only they could all bathe together after. Surely, he might pass out before they even pulled out, but the thought was a comforting one nonetheless. _ Oh well, _ someday, maybe. 

As soon as he felt Felix relax in his hold, saw Linhardt’s eyelids start weighing heavily, Sylvain decided that it was time to give it a shot for real. 

_ “Felix? I’m going to start moving now, alright?” _

_ “Don’t tell me about it. You’re already inside, aren’t you?” _ He glowered at him over his shoulder with little impact. Felix’s face, the back of his neck, the shell of his ears, the tips of his shoulders, all of it was flushing a deep red. _ “What else are you going to do?” _

_ “Mhm.” _ Sylvain cooed, burying his face into his hair, nuzzling into the scent of musk and pine. _ “Love you forever?” _

_ “Ugh.” _Not acceptance, no, but not an argument either. They were making progress.

So, to celebrate, Sylvain followed up on his word. He began first with a slow roll, guiding Felix along his shaft with his hands on his hips. They looked almost out of place on a waist so slender, skin so fair. In contrast, Sylvain’s skin was tinted by a tan, and freckles were peppered all over it. Childhood days spent under the sun’s glare had left their mark on him. Nonetheless, he found the image quite sexy. 

Looking over his shoulder, he watched Linhardt’s mouth hang open, voice hanging silent. His brows pulled at the bridge of his nose, and he licked at his chapped lips while pushing down onto Felix, blissed out of his mind and undoubtedly incoherent. 

How utterly beautiful. 

His grip tightened, fingernails tearing at skin until he was sure that that night would stay with him forever, a ghost in the mirror each time Felix dared to look, and he snapped forwards, drawing himself out just enough to tease before slamming back in with enough force that he could carry all three of them to a surefire orgasm.

Linhardt was the first one to break, grabbing hold of his cock to pump himself, too impatient after being toyed with for so long. He came with a gasp and a loud shout, crying tears of cum all over his stomach. Another fluid added to the mixture. And feeling him constrict around his cock, Felix threw his head back against Sylvain’s shoulder, still riding his high out inside Linhardt, who could not stop himself from moaning. He was already overstimulated, but Felix burned inside him, pushing against his already-too-tight muscles. His feet stung with each thrust, as if he were stepping on flaming needles. It felt too good to be real, so Linhardt hooked his legs around Felix, Sylvain too, and held them closer still. 

_ “Shit, I’m real close.” _Sylvain breathed into Felix’s neck, and he pressed kisses there too pass the time until he was bucking into him, coming inside without remorse. He kept the pace, dragging out his orgasm for long enough that Felix was suddenly coming, too, though he might have never noticed were it not for the way Linhardt’s eyes snapped wide open with a final sob. 

Then, they collapsed onto each other, remaining there for as long as it took the afterglow to wear off, both too long and too little, in Sylvain’s opinion. 

Felix remained quiet when Linhardt pulled him into his arms, where he could hide his face against the pillow beneath them. It would take him a while to get used to everything that was so new to him, but he found comfort in the embrace. Linhardt's hand stroked his back lazily, soothing him by drawing geometry against his skin, circles and lines and other such things. And every once in a while, he would kiss his head with a hum, just in case Felix was prone to forgetting that there was no escaping that love which the two of them had gladly offered up.

Next to them, Sylvain rolled over and watched them. He snuggled up right into Linhardt and draped his arm over Felix’s lower back, joining them quietly. This was one time he would keep silent, because that moment, intimate and so utterly precious, did not belong to him, alone. It was to be shared amongst each other, always and forever. 

_ “I believe”, _and Linhardt stopped to yawn,_ “we ought to do this again sometime.” _

_ “Sometime? How about tomorrow, the following day, and maybe every day after?” _

_ “Proposing so soon, Sylvain? But you’ve barely just slept with Felix.” _

_ “Exactly. What’s the point in waiting any lo__—” _

_ “Enough!” _ At long last, Felix rose, pushing himself off of Linhardt. He wasn’t frowning so much as his lip would not stop trembling in embarrassment. _ “How can the two of you say things like that so casually?” _

Sylvain and Linhardt stole a quick glance at each other before turning back to face Felix, a smile as bright as the sun on Sylvain’s lips accompanied by a smaller, more measured one on Linhardt’s. 

_ “You still have to ask?” _

_ “It’s because both of us love you dearly.” _

Felix could not doubt their words, despite wanting to, despite _ wishing _ that he might _want_ to doubt them. But he didn’t. Try as he might, there were no loose ends for him to grab at. Because as unorthodox as their relationship might have been, it was also sacred, and neither of them had ever given him cause to doubt their confession. 

So, with a groan of defeat, he surrendered himself back into Linhardt’s embrace, content to listen to Sylvain’s laughter until the end of time. But of course, he didn’t need to know that part yet. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sylvain strutting his ass through Garreg Mach, but it's just that one scene from the third Tobey Maguire Spiderman


End file.
